


Fireworks

by ACometAppears



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 4th of July, American Independence Day, Gen, M/M, PTSD, steve's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1897821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACometAppears/pseuds/ACometAppears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky doesn't realise it's Steve's birthday, at first. He wonders why he's in the grocery store, staring at birthday cakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short fic to celebrate Steve's birthday. Originally written on tumblr (you can find me at comraderogers). Enjoy!!

The 4th of July is a strange and disconcerting day for the Winter Soldier - more so than any other day during his time alone, these past few months. He’s been trying to regain some of his old memories, and find a purpose and an identity in the new, modern world he’s found himself in after reclaiming his freedom and autonomy. 

The American patriotism all around him makes him feel weighed down with guilt, and shame: he was an American, once. He doesn’t know what he is now - aside from a traitor, and a monster. The one light in all of those dark thoughts is, _Captain America himself still cares about you. Maybe America can forgive you, too._

Fireworks are unpleasant, to say the least. They make him cringe: his eyes widen, and his left hand tightens into a fist at the loud cracking noises; his right flies to his concealed pistol, ready to fire in seconds, before he realises no one’s running, no one’s screaming, and there’s no target. No one is dying, today. 

… He finds himself in a supermarket, emerging from his troubling thoughts in front of a whole bunch of cakes. Not ordinary cakes, either: birthday cakes. There are pink cakes, and blue cakes, for kids and adults, and cakes with cartoons on … There’s an Avengers cake. Captain America’s face stands out, an undeniably patriotic expression etched into those features, as the Winter Soldier stares back at it. His breathing is coming quicker, and shallower than normal - he’s finding it hard to control himself. 

Why is he here? What is he looking for?

He turns away from the birthday cakes, and leaves the store, hands shoved into the pockets of his unseasonable jacket - hiding his arm, protecting his anonymity - and doesn’t know that he’s just working on autopilot. 

He stares up at the stars that night, and tries not to flinch or be overcome with anxiety at the sound of every firework; every small explosion in the sky above him. He finally works it out, when he sees the Avengers tower light up with custom lights, engineered no doubt by Tony Stark, in the shape of Captain America’s shield. 

He swallows, but finds himself smiling slightly at the sight of it, ignoring the fireworks and not registering the unshed tears in his eyes.

He wonders if this is a sign that maybe he should go home: he has the freedom to choose whether or not to do so, but … He feels like he should say this in person. 

_… Happy birthday, Steve._

-

Bucky buys a cake. But he still can’t face Steve. 

He gets the one with the Avengers on - _that’s fun, right? It’ll help break the ice, won’t it?_ \- with the little money that he has, and makes his way to the Avengers tower. It’s a bustling hive of activity, today: with the custom lights, reporters are buzzing around, looking out for Tony Stark, or Captain America himself on his birthday. 

He makes his way through the crowd, defending the unopened cake box as he goes, and walks through the revolving door into the Avengers Tower. The foyer is just as busy, though: having so many people around him makes him nervous. It’s harder to spot an assailant, or anticipate an attack, with this many people around. Even with his hidden weapons, he’d have a much harder time defending himself. There are hardly any corners in this room - let alone ones he’d choose to defend, if forced to. 

Fireworks crack outside. He flinches, wincing, his grip on the cake box tightening momentarily - when he catches on that it’s just another firework, he looks down at the box, and cringes for a whole other reason. The box is a little squished, now. 

It’s nothing, he realises. Steve lives in the Avengers Tower now, in the lap of luxury (though that doesn’t strike him as Captain Rogers’ kind of thing). He’s probably best friends with Tony goddamn Stark - even Bucky knows who that guy is - and he’s probably rich, too. Bucky doesn’t remember much about their childhood, but he remembers Steve used to be small, and sickly. Most likely poor, too. 

Not anymore. 

The cake is nothing, and he’s nothing. He feels stupid, looking down with mild distaste at the cake in the crumpled box. _Pathetic._

He bites his lip: he never felt the need for any emotional connections, before. But the weight of his guilt, and shame … It’s intensified today, to the point where he feels like he needs to do something about it. This gesture doesn’t even begin to cover it - it’s barely a band-aid - but hopefully it sends the message to Steve that he’s sorry. And that he wishes he could be there. 

But he’s no good for Steve. He tried to kill him. Steve said til the end of the line, but what if it was just a way of stopping Bucky from killing him? … Now he’s had time to think about it, he probably doesn’t want anything to do with Bucky. _Especially_ not on his birthday. 

But he’s still got to try. 

So he takes a bit of Stark Industries branded note paper, and steals a Stark Industries branded pen, and writes a quick note. He tucks it into the cake box, and makes his way to reception, shoving it at the woman there and turning away quickly. Hopefully they don’t think it’s a bomb, or something. Or poisoned. 

But it’s sealed, still. Un-tampered with - but still sullied, by Bucky’s presence; slightly crushed by his metal fingers. Everything he touches is tainted. 

He felt the urge to go home, today. He hopes Steve still wants him back. 

-

Steve’s been at his party most of the evening, but he took a break when he got a message from reception, about a bunch of letters and cards and presents. She said she’d vetted most of them, and they’d all keep for several days - but there was one perishable item, which she thought could do for their party. _I think you’ll laugh when you see it, Cap._

He had chuckled, initially - an Avengers-branded cake. He shakes his head, unable to believe what a song-and-dance is made over him and the others, these days. But his smile faded when he saw the familiar, child-like writing on the box, in the form of a note. 

_His writing never changed. They couldn’t take away those chicken-scratches._

The rest of the Avengers know. They just _know_ , when Steve walks into the room with the maltreated cake box, his face paler than before; he’s biting his lip, and he drops down onto the large, ostentatious, streamer-covered couch. They gather around him, trying to pretend they aren’t craning their necks to read the note. But each of them do so, as he stares down at the words thoughtfully. 

_c/o Steve Rogers_

_Happy Birthday, pal_

There’s not much, other than that. He didn’t even sign a name. Perhaps he didn’t know which one to use. 

"… We could cut it up, Cap," Natasha suggests, indicating the cake. 

The rest of them watch, as Steve’s face changes from being blank, to being more hopeful; a tiny grin graces his features, as he looks up at them. 

"… Yeah. Thanks Nat,"  
"What’re you smiling about?" Clint asks, helping himself to a slice of cold pizza. He’s aware of what’s going on, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal of it, like the others - to do so would be kind of a buzz-kill.  
"… He remembered. He remembers my birthday," Steve says, handing the cake to Natasha, who takes up a knife. Bruce gathers up the remainder of the paper plates they didn’t use for Thor’s amazing barbecue feast, and hands them to her. 

If they were all in any doubt before as to who left the cake, they aren’t anymore when Steve says that. 

"Natasha," Steve says, looking over to where she’s cutting the cake. She looks up, her eyes concerned and questioning. "Leave an extra piece," 

She smiles, and nods. 

She doesn’t doubt Bucky will try and come back again. And she doesn’t doubt the cake will still be fresh when he does. 

He’s a fighter, after all. It won’t be easy, she’s sure, but … He remembers Steve, and that’s half the battle. He’ll fight to get him back; he won’t give up. 

Bucky will come home one day soon.


End file.
